The Duke and His Duchess - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,40

stalked over to her escritoire. She rifled the drawers and came up glowering.

Which purely delighted Percival. On his last raid into enemy territory, he’d made one stop before he and Maggie had left the premises, and that detail, that one small detail, justified years spent shivering on reconnaissance in the Canadian wilderness.

“You’ve stolen the documents, my lord. Shall I have you arrested for that?”

Percival settled his elbow a little more comfortably on her mantel and noted one of the green bows on Cecily’s towering wig was coming undone. “By all means. You’ll want your witnesses to lay information, provided you can find any who will malign a duke’s son with their perjury. You procured the documents for me at my specific request, as the signatories on the documents would attest.”

As they would attest now, now that Percival had met with each one and held pointed discussions with them.

Cecily slammed the last drawer closed hard enough to make the inkwell on the blotter jump. “You lying, conniving, sly—”

“Such flattery will surely turn my head, Mrs. O’Donnell.” He pushed away from the mantel, because if she came flying at him, he’d want to be able to step aside without letting her touch him. “You have an alternative, you know. My wife was insistent that you’d see reason eventually.”

“Your wife isn’t fit to—”

Before she could complete her insult, Percival harpooned her with a look that let her see every particle of savagery in him. To protect his wife and children, to protect even his lady’s good name, he would cheerfully murder this woman on the spot. Esther had been very clear he was not to indulge in such an impulse, though Esther was also demonstrating a marvelous ability to deal with the occasional marital disappointment.

Cecily took a seat at her escritoire. “What is this alternative?”

Percival tossed documents before her, like he’d throw slops before a hog. “Sign those papers giving me authority over the child, and that bank draft is yours to do with whatever you please.”

No sow had ever regarded her dinner with such a gleam of avarice in her eye. Cecily traced her fingers over the figures on the draft. “All I have to do is sign the papers?”

“Immediately.”

She didn’t like that. From the scowl on her face, Percival surmised she’d planned on absconding with the money, and at some future date, perhaps absconding with the child.

“Fine then. Take the brat, and I wish you the joy of her.” She reached for the inkwell, and Percival went to the door.

“What are you—?”

“Witnesses, Mrs. O’Donnell. A proper legal document, to be binding, requires proper witnesses, doesn’t it?”

She made no effort to hide her rage as John, Duke of Quimbey, strode into the room, very much on his dignity. Anthony came after that, followed by a marquis and an earl whom Percival had known since his years at Eton.

Quimbey took the time to make sure Cecily was signing freely and voluntarily and that she understood what she was signing—a nice touch that, but then Quimbey had acquired his title before he’d gone to university, and was a genuinely good friend.

The deed was quickly fait accompli, and with thanks all around in the mews, Percival mounted his charger and prepared to report to his commanding officer that the enemy had been thoroughly, absolutely, and permanently routed.

***

“Maggie will help me civilize them,” Esther said as they closed the nursery door. “She’s had to think for herself from a young age, and lot of cosseted boys will not slow her down one bit.”

Beside her, Percival studied the closed door. “You consider Devlin to have been cosseted?” He hoped it was so. Distracted by his siblings, Devlin seemed to be fitting in easily, but Percival saw worry in the boy’s eyes.

Time to go shopping for some ponies.

Esther slipped her arm through his and walked with him toward the stairs, probably to prevent him from suggesting they read the children just one more story.

“You must not fret, Husband. In some ways, Devlin has been cosseted the most. His mother could not provide lavishly for him, but he had her love all to himself, no siblings to compete with, no father to distract Mama from her darling son. He’ll be fine, Percival. We’ll all be fine.”

Because Esther believed that, Percival could believe it too. Kathleen St. Just had taken ship for Ireland, where a second cousin was willing to marry her. Cecily O’Donnell was reported to be taking a repairing lease at Bath. In some ways, the Yule season